Login

Current User Info

· Lurkers Lurking: 6

· Rebels Active: 0

· Total Rebels: 959· Newest Rebel: CaptKaraFreen

Login Help

If you are having problems logging in, please bear in mind that if you originally registered at the site before 8th January 2014 and you haven't re-registered since that date your old login details will no longer work. If this is the case, please re-register, preferably with your former username. If you are having trouble with the registration process itself, try looking HERE and HERE for help and advice. If you need further assistance, please do CONTACT us.

Newest Articles

B7 Images

+ Cookies +

The Horizon website uses cookies to allow user log-in and navigation. The site does not host advertising that requires the use of third-party cookies. Registering as a member of this site implies your consent to the use of cookies.

Oh no! Orac wants to know - where's your JavaScript?!Your Web browser does not have JavaScript enabled or does not support JavaScript. Please enable JavaScript on your Web browser to properly view this Web site, or upgrade to a Web browser that does support JavaScript; Firefox, Safari, Opera, Chrome or a version of Internet Explorer newer then version 6.

Finton took a final look around the room that had been his office for the last six months. The census was complete, his report ready to hand over to the incoming team of analysts. On each new planet to come under Federation authority, it was his task to establish the population demographics; the analysts would then determine the most efficient way of keeping them under control.

For once, the new Federation citizens had proved to be docile and compliant; Finton almost envied their simple lifestyles and lack of curiousity. The announcement that they must register at the Population Monitoring Centre had met with no resistance – it was nice not to have to resort to threats or bribery.

Three of Ashwell's staff were rearranging the computer equipment and filing cabinets to make space for a large, real-wood desk. Ashwell began to unpack his belongings, placing them on the desk with obsessive neatness. Finton felt a wave of irritation that he quickly suppressed. The room was no longer his. Time to leave.

As he reached the door, Ashwell glanced up and said, "Miss Everstone is waiting downstairs, wants a word with you. Nice-looking girl. It's too bad I don't need a secretary."

Finton's heart sank. He didn't want another scene. He hadn't expected Violetta to become so attached to him; she knew from that start that this would only be a temporary affair. He found her in the glass lobby, and was relieved that she appeared calm. Only her pale face and red eyes betrayed anything of last night's storm of tears, her pleas for him to stay or to allow her to go with him. Both options were quite impossible, of course.

He steered her towards a quiet area where they wouldn't be overheard.

"You wished to speak to me, Miss Everstone?"

She flinched at his formal tone. "I've come to say goodbye."

"We've already said everything that needed saying."

"Not quite. When is your shuttle?"

"Two hours."

"Two hours!" Tears came to her eyes, and she swallowed. "I can't bear the thought of never seeing you again."

"You'll forget me soon enough," Finton said lightly – and literally. One of the first actions of the incoming team was to regulate the dose of suppressants in the water and food supplies, and to arrange selective memory wipes for individuals who required them. He would request one for her.

"I'll never forget you. How could I, when I'm carrying your child?"

Finton froze. He had assumed she used contraception. That was careless of him; he'd have to ensure his next secretary took proper precautions.

"Are you angry?" Violetta asked anxiously.

"Of course not." He forced a smile. "Don't forget to register the child before the next Census."

"Oh!" Her face lit up. "So you'll be back in five years?"

The promise came easily, as it had with all his previous secretaries. "Yes," he lied.

***

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblrThere's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes

That Travisina is a little gem of a story.... very true to what we see of Federation Zofficials in the series and expertly realised. The details are really good..I love the irritation Finton feels when Ashwell invades his space and the real wood desk.

So here goes...
Someone gets left behind and Lurena draws his anguish perfectly...............

The Forgotten

The excitement in the Teleport Section was electric.
They all gathered round as Dayna emptied her bag of ill gotten goodies.
“I can’t believe how easy that was,” Tarrant enthused.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” extolled Vila, “How many Dayna?”
“Enough,” she replied, “I’m so glad that you found that Family Bag of Revels, Vila. At least I don’t have to rely on Avon’s good will.”
“I wonder who it is who has started production again?” asked Tarrant.
“Who cares,” replied Vila, “He can keep his packets locked up in the strong room for as long as he likes. Now that we know we can get these whenever Dayna feels like them, our worries are over…”
“No they’re not,” Cally murmured.
“Why not?” Tarrant smiled.
“Because Avon is still down there…you left him behind.”

Avon was holding his wrist.
The man opposite was definitely more agile that he looked. One hit with his silver cane had rendered the teleport bracelet inoperative.
“Seems like the boot is on the other foot now, doesn’t it sunshine? Your friends have gone off with some valuable merchandise and I want to know what you intend to do about it. Very clever that, distraction robbery they call it, and round these parts, they don’t take kindly to robbery.”
“It wasn’t like that…”
“Look, you lot bowl in here and then you start asking questions…no, demanding answers; answers that I don’t have. I told you several times…I don’t know where these Family Sized packets of Revels come from and quite frankly, I don’t care a toss. All I know is that some geezer has taken on the task of delivering all these confections because of people like you who keep hijacking consignments or causing the ships carrying such to crash.”
“So, who is this geez…man?”
“He likes to keep incom…secret like.”
“So who is it producing these Family Packs?”
“Like I keep on telling you…I DON’T KNOW. Look, why don’t you ask those two blokes who started to make these things when the Mars Inc production facility disappeared…Bad and Curly, or someit like that.”
“I might just do that.”
“Good. Now, are you going to pay up for all those Family Packs what your gang nicked? Or are we going to do it the hard way?”

Avon was holding his other wrist now; the gentleman had shown him what the hard way entailed.
A quick call on the man’s radio and Cally had arrived with the cash and another bracelet.
“What now?” Tarrant asked.
“We go and see Cad and Bury,” Avon replied.
“No way,” Dayna said between mouthfuls of Revels, “The Federation Fleet is on its way to Teal and Vandor, for military exercises by all accounts.”
“So your visit will have to wait until we find out what, if anything, Servalan is up to,” Cally explained.
“Anyway, I could do with a rest,” Vila announced, taking one of the revels offered by Dayna, “By the way, that distraction technique of yours, Avon. Brilliant!”
Avon glared!

Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!

Just a bit serious now, with a play on words (sorry) and a piccie by Lurena

A Sweet Consensus

For Servalan the last few hours had proved traumatic, but now, in her own private quarters, wrapped in a soft, white dressing gown, and huddled in a large, upholstered chair, she felt safe.
Her guards were rounding up the last rebel stragglers and her security service was beginning the search for who else was connected to these men, and women, and who else should feel the repercussions of this failed bid to topple her.
She pondered the notion that the one man instrumental in that failure was none other than Kerr Avon; Blake’s right hand man. His one action had halted that rebellion attempt.
How ironic, she thought, but she had seen a broken man…and that was something that she could manipulate to her own ends.
The intercom set in the chair burst into life, demanding her attention.
She depressed the button.
A soft, familiar voice lilted over the airwaves.
“Ma’am, the news has just reached me. Are you unhurt?”
“Yes, Carnell, I am. And I thank you for your small gift. I received it this morning.”
“I trust you will find it satisfying. The two gentlemen concerned were most insistent that I waylay the courier and hand this delightful new confection to him.”
“What I do find most interesting is that this…courier…brought with him many varieties of new confectionary, which begs me to ask; just how many new companies are out there?”
“Ma’am?”
“I think that as the President of the Federation it is my duty to identify and bring under our control, once more, the trade in confectionary.”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“Oh, a rather old fashion method. A Census.”
“A Census?”
“Indeed, that will allow me to find out who, what and where these companies are. Don’t you agree?”
“It would be an interesting operation…”
“The one who commands the supply and distribution of sweets within the Federation, controls the Federation.”
“As I said…interesting.”
“But I also think it is time for the Federation to remind its people of its power. A small display of our concern for those confederacies that still stubbornly insist on remaining neutral in these trying times, and while that is occurring, I think my idea to bring about the downfall of Blake’s associate is now in order.”
“I presume you have a plan?”
“Oh yes, one that will ultimately break Kerr Avon.”
“Ma’am, may I remind you that this Kerr Avon is a very dangerous man…” Carnell warned.
“You may,” Servalan smiled as she bit into the Cadbury’s Flake. She brushed the fallen flakes of chocolate from her lap to the carpeted floor, where no doubt a guard would eventually crush them into the long, luxurious pile, “By the time I have finished with him, any danger will have passed. Kerr Avon will no longer know which is reality…or illusion. And I will see him finally crumble. I saw the beginnings in that cellar and I will witness his last vestiges of sanity.”

Cold.....you don't know the meaning of cold.
Cold is when you have ice on the INSIDE of the window!!!

It's cold in this wretched hut, but we dare not relight the fire. I might as well have stayed on guard, for all the sleep I'm getting, but they said they don't trust me. Ungrateful lot. It's Soolin's turn now, but I don't think the others are asleep. We're lying in silence, thinking our own thoughts.

My head hurts. I wish I wasn't so hungry. I wish there was something to drink. I wish Avon had given me a straight answer – any answer – when I asked him about Tarrant. Three times I asked, and three times he ignored me. Maybe it's due to the bump on my head, but I'm worried about what happened to that bullying oaf.

It wouldn't be the first time we've left somebody behind, but we always went back to rescue them, returning them to the safety of the Liberator or Scorpio. Now it's the other way round, with the rest of us safely on the planet and Tarrant left behind on the stricken ship.

I could ask Orac, though I doubt I'd get a proper answer from that self-serving machine. I bet it only tells me what Tarrant weighed, ha ha. But that may be enough to figure out what happened on Scorpio after the girls and I teleported away. I'm the only one who knows what happened on the Malodar shuttle; that when it comes to survival, Avon will always be number one, Orac number two, and the rest of us can crash and burn. Was Tarrant already dead? Did Avon kill him? At least he had the grace not to reply: "Who?" when I asked. Because he didn't reply at all.

What would Avon have said if he'd returned alone from Malodar? Maybe nothing, especially if the others were as indifferent to my fate as they seem to be about Tarrant's. It's strange - I thought Dayna and Tarrant were friends, and Soolin cared enough to help reunite him with Zeeona. But they've said nothing.

Zeeona. Tarrant was ready to kill me for what I'd said, and at that point I was almost ready to die. Death by angry Tarrant would have been better than other deaths I can imagine - like death by calculating Avon. Killed in anger by someone who never liked me is surely better than killed in cold blood by someone I thought was a friend.

Why do I care what happened to Tarrant? Because like him or not, he was one of us and there are so few of us left. Maybe Blake will be able to hold us together again, perhaps that's why Avon is so keen to find him.

But last time Avon thought he'd found Blake it turned out to be a trick, a trap set by Servalan, and we lost the Liberator and Cally. If this turns out to be another tricksy trap, who else will we lose? How many more of us will be left behind tomorrow, the next day and the next?

***

Edited by Travisina on 28 July 2017 17:25:50

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblrThere's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes

@Travisina: I love Vila's point of view here—all the questions that were never asked out loud, all the hurt and optimism he still begrudgingly feels. Even concern for Tarrant (he was the only one who bothered to ask!)

Travisina wrote:
who else will we lose? How many more of us will be left behind tomorrow, the next day and the next?

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow... The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

LOL, Joe! I know the Scottish play really well, so that must have surfaced unintentionally from my subconscious.
One of my fave screen versions is Jon Finch 1971. I like his weary, understated delivery.

Twitter: @TravisinaB7
Tumblr: tumblrThere's no point being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes

Exiting the private travelator for high grade commuters, Cussen strollen into the foyer of the Federation Census Bureau at exactly nine minutes to nine. He felt on top form as he entered the lift and punched the button for the ninety third floor. His elation at finally finishing the consolidated forward planning for the entire Federation had stayed with him throughout the last fortnight, and even the small niggles that had cropped up at the end of his well-deserved holiday couldn't dent the supreme sense of satisfaction he felt at having ruled a line under a gigantic task.

It was annoying of course when the interstellar cruise liner he was on had run off course and ended up stopping over at the desert world of Wuunga rather than the stunning icicle planet of Pauvera as promised. The difficulties getting bobo berries on his pancakes, or slices of pineapple to garnish the large colourful cocktails, did take the shine off things somewhat. He had dreamed of them looking like the ones in the brochure.

Overall, however, he was still on cloud nine. Cussen and his team had successfully compiled all the survey information from all the Federated worlds and produced a landmark schedule. They'd worked back night after night but the mammoth task was done on time. Population projections for all the worlds, tied in with food production around the galaxy - the number of citizens, where they were and how to feed them. Not only that, but forecasts of the necessary military shipbuilding programmes needed to protect those citizens - or keep them in line. Education, production, agriculture, and a dozen more interrelated categories besides.

Exiting the lift, Cussen was stunned to find the office in disarray. Frantic, wild-eyed staff were staring at computer screens and urgently making hand-written adjustments on note pads. Swathes of paper litter lay everywhere, along with old coffee cups and the remains of half-eaten meals.

Cussen made a grab for Teverri as he ran past. "What's happened?" he asked.

"It's all gone wrong!" blubbed the man hysterically, twisting out of Cussen's grip and fleeing down the corridor.

Cussen stalked through the centre, shocked at how different the office looked since he wrapped up the numbers and hit the submit key two weeks ago.

Rei looked up from some calculations he was scratching out with a graphite writing stick. His eyes were red-rimmed, his chin unshaven and his hair at wild angles from Rei running his fingers through it over and over in desperation.

"All the numbers are out of date, sir! We have to update them immediately! But --"

Just then the lights dimmed, then went out. A great communal wail went out from all the staff around the building.

"--but the power keeps dropping out."

Cussen was stunned. "Out of date?" he queried. "How can the numbers be out of date?"

He couldn't see Rei but, looking back on this moment, he could always imagine the expression Rei had on his face.

"Haven't you heard?" gasped his assistant. "Everything has gone out the window! There's been a war with the Andromedans and the fleet's been wiped out. They say Blake let them in! The food planets are dying. Palmero's flooded and Sooni's baked. The population has been eradicated on numerous frontier planets. Manufacturing capacity has been reduced to a third. And the damn systems keep going off line."

There was a quiet whoomph and a whir as the lights, air conditioning and computer systems suddenly started up again. Cussen stared at Rei, as Rei stared back with deranged glee.

"I hope you had a good rest on your holiday, Cussen," he said, holding out a pencil. "We've got to do all the numbers again and this seems to be the only reliable way to do it."

As Cussen took the pencil, he felt the enormous strain of all the work ahead condense out of nowhere and fall back onto his shoulders as if it had never left. He sank to his knees and wept.